


Learning How to Feel

by johnedandsherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnedandsherlocked/pseuds/johnedandsherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is not very good at complimenting others. More or less, he's never done it. But John is special, and he wants to tell him so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning How to Feel

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first ever fic I've ever published. It switches off from John's POV to Sherlock's back and forth. Might be a bit confusing, but yeah... Un-beta'd so please point out any mistakes and I'll fix them!

Sherlock is never the one to give compliments. When he does, they end up being disastrous or awkward. When he deduced that I didn't appreciate his compliments as much as wanted, he stopped. I guess I've gotten used to him not saying nice things to me nowadays.  
\---  
I do hate giving compliments to others. So dull, so boring.  
Emotions are too complicated. Not that I don't like complicated things; I adore such cases. But emotions? I just can't do it.  
\---  
I come home from the surgery, tired, wet from the pouring rain outside. Sherlock just sat in his usual spot on the sofa.  
We'd had quite a quarrel last night, and I'd stormed out the door without saying anything this morning. We haven't spoken to each other for hours... I wonder if he will now.  
"I'm home," I call out. I expect nothing back. He wouldn't greet me if we weren't fighting anyways.

But he does.  
\---  
"Welcome home, John."  
It feels strange to say. Of course he is welcome; he lives here. It's his home.  
He's sopping wet. He walked past Regents; I suspect from the fur of the dog that always seems to rub up against John. That old woman always walks the filthy creature at this time.  
"Why didn't you take a cab?"  
\---  
I was still in shock by his welcoming. Sherlock Holmes welcomed me home.  
"Are you okay, Sherlock?"  
This isn't right. This isn't Sherlock.  
"Of course I am. Why do you ask?" He stands up and walks over to me.  
"You seem a bit...strange."  
\---  
Mrs. Hudson came upstairs after John left. She had apparently heard us bickering last night.  
"Oh, Sherlock, you need to be nicer to John. He's the only one whose stayed this long, darling."  
She handed me a cup of tea.  
"How?"  
I didn't know. I've never known. If I did, I've deleted it a long while ago.  
She sighed and set a hand down on my shoulder.  
\---  
Sherlock rubs a warm, soft towel through my hair. It feels good; his bony, yet strong fingers running through wet hair. He's already made me strip off my wet jumper and handed me his robe. It's a bit too long, but warm from Sherlock's body.  
He smiles down at me. It's weird.  
\---  
John is still shivering from the cold. I led him over to the fire. Maybe it will make him feel... Good.  
Oh, the flickering fire dancing across his skin. The warm look in his eyes when I hold him tight... God, he's so beautiful.  
I don't think I've ever told him that.

••••

Sherlock is hugging me right now.  
Since when has this been normal?  
It isn't my birthday. It isn't his birthday. Nor is it an anniversary of any sort. What is happening?  
Not that I'm not liking it.  
He's so warm.  
Being so pale and cold-hearted, you'd expect him being an iceman.  
But he isn't.  
\---  
Holding John close, I start to think. Everything feels right when I'm with John. He's the only one who has accepted me for being myself. I can't imagine life without him anymore.  
"Sherlock?" John says.  
I startle myself, but I look down at John. He's resting his head against my shoulder. Oh. How adorable.  
"What is it?"  
"You're acting strange today."  
"No I'm not."  
It's obvious he disagrees with me; he frowns.  
I just smile and run my hand against his hair. It's still damp.  
"John," I finally say. "You do know this right?"  
\---  
"Know what?" I ask.  
What am I supposed to know? Has he been taking some strange medications? Some unnatural fumes created by his erratic experiments?  
The ancient rug on the floor prickles against my bare leg as he pushes me away. He grabs onto my shoulders.  
I want the warmth back.  
\---  
"Know that... I hope you're alright..."  
My cheeks burn hot as I say it. Why can't I do this right?  
John has a stunned look on his face again. I look away, embarrassed. I haven't felt that way in so long now. I look up again, expecting John to think I'm on drugs again, but he doesn't.  
He smiles.  
\---  
Oh God, he's so adorable today. I don't know what's happened, but I think I am okay with this.  
"Of course I am, love." I say, reassuringly. It's the best I can do to get him out of the adorable little boy thing he's in now.  
He perks up quickly, like an eager dog, and smiles... I think. It's a bit awkward. His eyes smile, but one corner of his mouth pulls upwards while the other... I don't even know what he's trying to do, but it is adorable as hell.  
\---  
John's petting my head. Usually, I hate being handled like a child. But this was John. John is special.  
Maybe this is what Mrs. Hudson meant.

••••

Sherlock's given me a bath. He's sitting at the edge, playing with the water. I splash him in the face to get his attention.  
"What was that for?" He says, shaking the droplets off of his hair. I giggle and brush the curls off of his forehead.  
"What did you do this time, Sherlock?"  
"Nothing. I've done nothing."  
"The last time you tried to be nice to me, it turns out you blew up our bedroom. So what did you do this time?"  
\---  
Mrs. Hudson said I shouldn't take John for granted. I didn't know what she meant. John is always there. He'll always be there. I can't remember anything from before I met him.  
She said that I need to treat him better; that it was a miracle he still stayed with me. I didn't know that what I was doing was not good. I thought that everything was fine. Wasn't that what people do?  
I hate not knowing things.  
\---  
"It's nothing," Sherlock mutters. "It's just that..."  
He stops.  
"What?"  
"Mrs. Hudson says that I need to be nicer to you. She says that you wouldn't know how I feel about you. That's what people are supposed to do, right? Be nice?"  
His pale face blushes.  
I smile and step out of the tub. Then I kneel down; this time to wrap Sherlock into my arms.  
\---  
"Oh Sherlock," he says. He's using that voice again. The one he uses when he talks to little children. "I know. I know so much."  
"But... I... I don't understand..."  
Wasn't this whole thing happening because I wanted John to know I loved him? Because he didn't know? Because I've been so terrible to him?  
God, I hate this feeling.  
\---  
Mrs. Hudson probably overheard our little fuss last night and talked to Sherlock while I was out. Thank God for that.  
I'm starting to feel cold, but Sherlock's body warms me. It's nice.  
"You're not 'people,' love," I say. "You're just Sherlock."  
The only Sherlock I'll ever know. The only Sherlock I'll ever love.  
My Sherlock.  
"I know you love me. Even if you are an insufferable bastard when you try to show it."  
Sherlock shifts his body closer to mine.  
"I care about you, John. I want to tell you, but I never know how."  
I feel his voice through my bones as he presses his face against my collarbone.  
"Oh, but I do, Sherlock."  
\---  
Emotion is so complicated. How am I supposed to feel right now? I am so, very confused.  
"What do you mean?"  
Of course you do, you're John. You'd bring in a new woman every other week. You're obviously capable of knowing how to love.  
"I mean, Sherlock, that I know how you show your love."  
\---  
"What?"  
He seems confused; still doesn't understand, does he?  
"It's the things you do unconsciously that makes me know, Sherlock."  
The way he grips my hand tight when I can't keep up. The way he looks at me when I examine a victim. The way he can't say "I love you," to my face.  
He looks up, pale grey-green eyes meeting mine.  
"Your eyes are so beautiful." I mutter.  
I lean in for a kiss. He welcomes me in; my cold nose gently pushing against his.  
Afterwards, Sherlock gets up and hands me a clean towel.  
"You look cold," he says.  
\---  
My shirt and trousers are wet from John being so close to me. I think he saw me looking down at them. He smirks and says,  
"Oh, you won't be needing that."  
He pulls me over to our bedroom.

•••

"That was amazing, Sherlock."  
Both tired of our last act, we stare at each other in the dim light. I push back the hair that sticks to his forehead with sweat. Lying on his gently heaving chest, I lay down soft kisses from his neck to his lips. He smiled and did the same to me.  
Before I passed out to sleep, I heard Sherlock say one thing.  
One simple thing; only remarkable when Sherlock would say so.  
"You're beautiful, John.  
I love you so much."


End file.
